Page 46 of Love's a Script
Ruben wanted to protest. He didn’t want the call to end. It beat anything he might’ve otherwise been doing, but his goodnight would’ve been less reluctant if he’d known that for the remainder of the week, he and Mary would spend each evening on the phone together.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Mary assumed it was momentum that kept her and Ruben calling each other night after night. He’d initiate some of the calls, and she the others. Their conversations were never longer than two hours, and they spanned a variety of topics. One evening, after briefly talking about their respective workdays, Mary was curious about the minutiae of his job, which led Ruben to guide her through the vocal warm-ups he did before live broadcasts. Yawns, meows, lip trills, and hums. “Your mouth should feel buzzy after. Almost itchy,” he said.
On another night, they wandered onto the subject of bubble baths. “I don’t see the appeal,” he told her.
“Have you ever had one?” she asked.
“Yeah, and it was whack. The water was cold within minutes.”
“That’s an easy fix,” she said. “You make the water hot enough to where it’s uncomfortable to enter, but not so hot that you get first-degree burns.”
That same evening, with the phone on speaker, Mary applied serums and creams to her face in the bathroom while they swapped childhood memories. “I set out to break the Guinness World Record for longest time spent reading when I was ten,” he said. “I came nowhere close, but in my heart, I was a champion and told everyone around me as much.”
“That’s actually very adorable,” she said.
He asked her about the electives she’d chosen in school, and she told him she was in band. “I played the French horn.”
“Really? I’d have guessed student council. The planning and organizational side seems more your wave.”
“You know what, I would’ve loved to be on student council, but I always saw it as a popularity contest I’d regret trying to win.”
“I was on the debate team,” he said.
She laughed. “Of course you were.”
“Mary, are you trying to suggest I’m argumentative and quarrelsome?”
She loved how he said her name. She couldn’t explain it, but it never sounded as dull as she’d always considered it. “Oh, I’m not suggesting,” she replied.
Later in the week, when the mayor finally released a statement addressing his relationship, Mary could hardly wait to get off work to speak to Ruben. When the time came, she sat wrapped up in a blanket on her couch with her laptop, and they spent close to an hour dissecting the vague language and the confounding decision by the mayor and his team to use an emoji in an official statement that gave no clear explanation but asked for privacy.
It became normal for Mary to arrive home, prepare dinner, shower, and then eat as she waited for Ruben to finish his broadcast. She’d come to anticipate his reflective murmurs, his rich laughter, his quips. She obviously knew that there would come a point when that would end, but she hadn’t expected it to come so soon or for it to be as sobering.
Ruben called her on the last day of the week at an hour they’d usually chat and said, “Sorry, Mary. I can’t talk tonight. I have a prior engagement…a date.”
“Oh, that’s fine,” she said brightly. “You enjoy yourself!”
After hanging up, she sat on her couch in stillness, replaying the week, questioning her intentions, and feeling foolish. She’d reasoned that their calls were harmless. Quaint, even, because who talked on the phone anymore? But she was bounding toward dangerous territory. There’d been a suggestive undercurrent to their conversations, one that would ignite a thrum of heat she’d stifle with crossed legs. Truthfully, she’d enjoyed doing something that felt illicit. Breaking free, even just for two hours a day, from concerns about perception and likability while talking to someone she had no worry of offending, who she didn’t have to be “on” around. It had felt good.
Clear-eyed now, Mary reached for her phone and found Ruben’s number in her contact list. She hesitated for a moment, then deleted the information.
Ruben’s second date with the dermatologist Soledad was going objectively well. They went out for dinner at a bistro where they talked with very little interruption from their waiter.
After dessert and coffee, they left the restaurant into the winter evening where the wind tunneled through the gaps in their clothing. Soledad said, “Remind me what the research question for your radio documentary is.”
“We’re asking if there’s a scientifically backed way to optimize chances of finding true love.”
“Big question. You expect to come to a definitive conclusion?”
“I don’t know. But so far, the answer is shaping up to be that there are many roads to Rome.”
When they reached her car, they stopped and faced each other.
“That was a nice evening,” she said.
“Yes, very nice,” he replied and a long pause followed with only the sizzle from a nearby parking security lamp to fill it. Ruben quickly understood what the moment was building to even before Soledad took a step toward him. Naturally, he closed the space between them. They kissed, and he felt nothing. Pure mechanics and the simple, literal sensation of lips touching. He wondered if it was the cold’s numbing effect and tried to deepen the kiss by gently cupping her face, but to no stirring avail.
